Filling the Cracks
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: One-shot in which Elsie cares for Charles following a shock. S6 Ep 5 SPOILERS - read at your own risk if you've not seen Series 6 yet.


**A/N: What happens in my brain when I'm trying to be on hiatus. Damn these empty spaces in S6. **The lovely silhouettedswallow did a fabulous thing for me with the following quote, as a birthday gift. You can find it on my tumblr account, chelsiesouloftheabbey, posted 12/29/15.**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **"Having your wounds kissed**_

 _ **by someone who doesn't see them**_

 _ **as disasters in your soul**_

 _ **but rather cracks to put their love into**_

 _ **is the most calming thing in this world."**_

 _ **–Emery Allen**_

* * *

She couldn't get over the amount of blood that had pooled onto the floor, seeping into … everything. Fingers gently touching her lips, holding in the gasp that she couldn't allow Mr. Barrow to overhear, she scanned the table, the chairs, the tablecloth -

 _Oh, Lord, they'll have to burn it …_

"See that it's taken care of at once," she demanded of the under butler. It came out more sharply than she'd intended, but everyone's nerves were frayed and she wasn't sure he'd even noticed. "Please," she added a bit more softly.

"Yes, Mrs. Carson," he replied softly.

She looked up quickly and was surprised to see the kindness in his gaze before the scales fell back over his eyes, protecting him once again. She appreciated and acknowledged his caring, the olive branch being offered to her as an _individual,_ and not simply the wife of the man with whom he just couldn't manage to see eye to eye.

And then there was his determination to always address her as 'Mrs. Carson' when no one else was within earshot. She'd given him a strange look the first time, a simple raise of the eyebrow, and he'd answered it in a passing murmur:

"It's difficult when everyone wants to think you're still something you aren't."

 _Well, isn't that the truth?_ she'd thought.

"Do you think you can manage staff breakfast tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course," Mr. Barrow answered. He turned to give an order to Andy, asked him to fetch Mr. Molesley to help with moving the furniture, and then turned back to her. "I think we're all set up here."

Elsie realized she hadn't moved from the spot where she'd been standing; instead, she was staring around at the room once again but not really focusing on anything, her mind already turned inward and calculating the tasks that would need to be completed as they waited, wondered, hoped … and prayed. She turned swiftly and made her way back down the servants' stairs, steeling herself for what was to come, moving the housekeeper aside for a bit and allowing the caretaker to emerge.

As she entered the servants' hall, the silence screamed out at her from all around. She knew everyone was preparing things for the young Ladies and Lady Grantham, that things regarding any packing, food that would be needed, and other such trivialities that were vastly important for making everyone comfortable were being taken care of. She did not worry about it, merely reassured herself that her staff were capable of managing without reminders. She remembered her husband's words from earlier, about how only death was sure.

 _How many reminders of that will this house need?_

Mrs. Patmore was preparing a tray when Elsie entered the kitchen. She spotted a teapot and teacup, and a plate with a few biscuits on it. She didn't even have to ask, merely waited for it to be finished before reaching for it.

"Will Mr. Carson be alright?" the cook asked quietly, her gentle smile not masking the terror that even she felt from the night's horror, the 'will he or won't he?' that they all had floating around in their minds, the fleeting thoughts of how it was much, much too soon for the next Earl of Grantham to assume his birthright.

"Eventually," Elsie replied softly. "Thank you for this," she added, picking up the tray. Both women knew it would likely go untouched, but it didn't matter. She made her way down the corridor and noticed that the door to the butler's pantry was shut tightly. She opened it after giving a gentle knock, one she knew he'd recognize as hers and that would allow him the opportunity to either show or hide his current state of emotion, as he chose. They were making their way through this marriage, one step at a time, but the complete openness they'd shared in Scarborough, the absence of the shield he'd always had around his heart and of the screen with which she'd often protected her feelings, was much harder to maintain at the Abbey proper. They'd each felt they'd be unable to negotiate the slippery slope that would inevitably lead from 'Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' to 'Charles and Elsie,' and had tried valiantly to keep up a sense of formality between them.

 _Well,_ she reminded herself, _that's why we don't **live** here anymore. _

She toed open the door as she heard the pitter-patter of someone's feet (Anna's, she knew) returning downstairs to the servants' hall. She laid the tray down and shut the door once again … and locked it.

She saw Charles sitting at his desk, rolling his pen – the one she'd gifted him two Christmases ago, she thought fondly – back and forth over the blotter, the cap in his other hand lest its clip interfere with the barrel's smooth-and-steady movement. She recognized the significance of the activity, had known for years that when her formidable man was at the brink of losing all control he would engage in some minute, meaningless, repetitive task – the simplicity of it requiring little focus, but the repetition soothing.

She turned and wordlessly began preparing his tea, pouring it slowly and appreciating the warmth she received from the steam as it rose from the liquid. She ignored the biscuits, knowing he'd never eat them anyhow, and carried the cup over to his desk.

"Where did _you_ disappear to?" he asked, conveying all of his fear in those five short words, allowing it to be acknowledged and heard by the one person he trusted above all others to care for it gently. He kept his eyes trained on the pen, rolling it back and forth, back and forth, back and –

Elsie reached out and laid her hand across it, stopping its movement, and laid the teacup down on the blotter. When he didn't protest, she picked it up and took the cap from his fingers, replacing it on the pen and putting it where it belonged in the holder on his desk.

"Drink it, Charles. It'll help," she said.

"I need to wait for someone to call," he stated pointlessly. "I … I can't leave."

"I know," she answered with an understanding nod. "And you shall. I'll take care of everything else."

He looked at her then, for the first time since she'd entered the room, and gave his best attempt at a smile. "I know you will," he whispered.

She smiled and nodded back, then turned and left him with his tea. If he touched it at all, she'd be stunned.

 _No matter,_ she thought, _the drinking of it isn't the point._

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time later, she heard his door click open from where she sat at the wrong end of the servants' table. The others hadn't noticed it yet, so intent were they on keeping their voices quiet; then again, she was used to listening for him, her ear so finely tuned to his movements and sounds it was as though they were her own.

They stood when he entered the room, and he delivered the good news. The lifting of spirits in the room was palpable, but an air of the unknown still hung around them all. Elsie stole a glance at the faces around the table, at everyone's eyes, and tried to gauge the status of their emotional state.

 _Fair to middling,_ she determined, _which is about as well as anyone can be expected to be._

A few moments later she sent Mr. Bates and Anna home, assuring them both that she and Mr. Carson would be back in time to oversee any travel arrangements that might be needed by the family. She took an extra glance at Mr. Bates and reached out to squeeze Anna's arm briefly as she heard Charles disappear back down the corridor.

 _Take care of him,_ Elsie's eyes advised.

 _You, too,_ Anna's replied, with a glance thrown toward Charles's pantry.

Mr. Branson had already let Elsie know that he wouldn't be taking breakfast in the dining room – his subtle way of saying that Mr. Carson wouldn't be needed until later on in the morning. She'd thanked him quietly and had passed the information along to Mr. Barrow.

Now all that remained was to get her husband home before he crumbled completely.

"Charles," she called to him from the doorway of his pantry. "I'm ready when you are."

He hummed his reply, wandering about the room aimlessly as though there were still things that needed attending. Elsie was thankful that Mr. Barrow had not brought the blood-spattered silver items back to the pantry, that he'd wiped them down and tucked them away in the servery until they could be dealt with tomorrow. If they'd been brought down, Charles simply would have polished them into oblivion in his current state.

Elsie walked across the room and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home, love," she whispered, placing a kiss to his shoulder blade, allowing her lips to linger a moment until he sensed the heat from her breath, bringing him out of his lost reverie.

"Alright," he said in a whisper, standing up a bit taller and turning to help her with her coat.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

The walk to the cottage was silent and a brisk wind had come forth from nowhere. Elsie could smell the coming rains in the air. The farm girl that still lived somewhere inside her mind advised the need for a scarf tomorrow morning and reminded her that the pathway would be covered with slick leaves.

She started as she felt her husband reach for her hand. It was so uncharacteristic of him, was not the elbow he usually offered for her to hold, but he reached out and grabbed her hand in his, squeezing hard as though he just needed to hold on to … something. She looked at him and smiled lovingly, knowing that although his eyes were on the path they walked he would see and feel it anyhow, and squeezed his right back.

Elsie reached into Charles's pocket as they approached the cottage, withdrawing the key and opening the door for him. She wasn't sure he'd thought of it, his mind was so far away once more. They went in and Charles took their coats, hanging them wordlessly before heading to the bedroom and parlour to build up the fires.

Elsie made her way into the kitchen and reached for the teapot, but stopped before grabbing its handle; instead, she turned and reached for two snifters, then the brandy that his Lordship had so thoughtfully gifted Charles with on the eve before the wedding. Cracking open the bottle for the first time, she allowed the symbolism of it to wash over her. She poured them each a healthy measure, then capped the bottle and returned it to its place of pride on the shelf.

Elsie fully expected to find Charles on the settee in the sitting room, but he was nowhere to be seen. She cocked her head, listening, and heard him moving about in the bathroom.

 _Alright,_ she thought cautiously, _it appears we're going straight to bed._ She shook her head slowly and made her way to the bedroom.

Brandy snifters deposited on a nightstand, Elsie started undoing the buttons of her dress. Halfway through, she heard the bathroom door open as Charles exited and approached the bed, standing directly behind her. She continued to undo her buttons, figuring the faster she got ready for bed the faster she'd be able to sit and listen to whatever he needed to get off his chest. It wouldn't do to have that conversation still in their work clothes – it wasn't a 'Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes' conversation, after all.

She gasped when she felt his arms come around her from behind, stilling her hands. His meaning was clear and she dropped her hands and let him finish unbuttoning the placket before he slid the dress off of her. Halfway through the removal of the rest of her clothing, Elsie looked down at his arms and saw that they were completely bare.

 _Oh …_

Only when the last vestiges of her clothing were removed did Elsie dare to turn around, but not even her husband's unsteady breathing as he'd been ghosting kisses across her shoulder had prepared her for what she'd see. The man was, in a word, visibly crushed by the events of the last several hours. His eyes were dark, yet far away, as though he were both _very_ well aware of their current state of undress and not present in the room at all. She placed her hands on his chest and deposited a kiss to his heart before turning; she retrieved the brandy and handed a glass to him, careful to not let go until she was certain he had it grasped safely in his hand.

"Charles," she encouraged him, nodding at the snifter. "You could use this."

He looked at the glass as though he just realized what it was. His eyes returned to hers, questioning.

She nodded, following his train of thought as she so often managed to do. "Yes. It seemed appropriate, somehow. I hope it's alright with you."

He merely hummed his response, tapping his glass to hers before they drank, the warm, fiery liquid warming him from within and bring him – somewhat – back to his senses.

Glasses empty, Charles returned them to the table.

"I'll only be a moment," Elsie told him quietly, heading into the en suite. Charles nodded, and she was grateful that he seemed to acknowledge her statement, that he had actually heard the words and internalized their meaning.

She returned to bed after a few moments, climbing in when Charles lifted the blankets for her and tucking herself in by his side. They were propped up against the headboard, and Elsie was grateful she'd insisted on extra pillows for their bed. She draped an arm across his chest, feeling the tension coursing through him.

They'd been through so much together over the past decades, horrible times of illness – his own, then hers – and even death. But she'd never once seen him like this. She'd seen him through his own heart troubles, but she knew instinctively that his heart was in more danger _now_ than it had been _then._ She dragged her fingertips up and down his chest, allowing the movement to soothe them both as she gathered her strength for whatever it was that he might need; she smiled at the feel of the silver hair soft against her fingertips, remembering how the texture of it had surprised her on their first night together as man and wife.

That night felt like it was a lifetime ago now.

Just when she thought he was beginning to doze, he shifted his arms and pulled her into an embrace, placing a kiss to the top of her head and squeezing her tightly.

"He thought he was dying," he said with a hoarse, strained voice, the first words he'd uttered since they'd left the Abbey. "Her Ladyship was on the floor beside him. I've never seen her so … so _strong."_

He heaved a shuddering breath, and began to weep openly; Elsie didn't move, but kept trailing her fingers over his heart as he let it out at last.

"He looked right at her and said, 'If this is it, just know that I have loved you very, very much.' And she tried to assure him that this was _not_ it … but she couldn't have known. She couldn't have been _sure_ …" His grip tightened, and suddenly, with stark clarity, Elsie understood.

She moved from his grasp and lifted herself so that she was hovering over him, then leaned in to kiss him firmly, his tears soaking her cheeks as well as his own, and falling onto the hair she'd not bothered to plait before coming to bed, which was now pooling on his chest. After a moment, she broke away and swung her leg over him, enabling her to sit atop his thighs, straddling him as she leaned forward and took his face in her hands. She rubbed her thumbs over his cheeks, wiping the tears away as they fell, then tilted his face up until he was forced to look her in the eye.

 _"I am still here,"_ she told him emphatically. "And so are you," she added, forcing him to remember. "And death is certain for us all, you were correct about that, which is why we must never take _this_ for granted. This life we have, this _love_ we have … sometimes it's _all_ we have. But it is _enough."_

"Is it?" he asked warily. "I feel as though I've had no time to make you happy, that I … that there won't _be_ enough time," he whispered, fresh tears gathering in his eyes.

"Oh, Charles," she soothed, "you've made me feel happy, made me feel _loved,_ for much longer than the time that we've been married." She bent to kiss him again and felt the beginning of his smile against her lips before she pulled back so that she could see his face. He reached up and took her hands in his, running his right thumb over her wedding band, caressing it.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I'm not sure what happened to me tonight. I … I almost lost control. It was … it was almost too much."

"I know," she answered, looking at him lovingly, her brow furrowed slightly. "That's why you have _me._ That's what marriage _is,_ Charles. When one of us isn't strong enough, we get carried by the other. Tonight was perhaps a hard reminder of that, but it sounds as though you got to see evidence of it first-hand."

She took a deep breath. "The love that a husband and wife share ... it's a powerful thing, something between us that I can _feel_ now. It's …" she paused, searching for the right word. "It's _everything_ to me now," she finished, her voice full of emotion, "having the right and the _responsibility_ to care for you."

Charles wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly as he drew strength from her closeness and from the love he could feel pouring out of her, filling the cracks that had appeared in the surface of the deepest parts of his heart. He'd nearly broken apart tonight, he could feel it, overwhelmed as he was by fear and sadness. And in complete perfection his wife – his amazing, wonderful Elsie – had swooped in, had taken control when she'd seen he had little left, had tied up everything neat and tidy, and had taken him home to rebuild himself before they had to return tomorrow. He realized only now that _this_ must have been why her Ladyship had insisted that the Carsons take a cottage on the estate, because she'd realized the importance of moments like this, when they'd need to simply be _together._

"We aren't needed until nine," Elsie murmured, feeling the physical as well as the emotional changes that her touch was bringing to her husband. "I've sorted it all with Mr. Barrow, and – "

She gasped, feeling him as he lifted her body slightly before pulling her down on top of him as he collapsed back onto the pillows.

"Good," he answered, before capturing her lips once again, pouring all the love and passion he had into the kiss. "I love you so much, Elsie. Thank you for this – for this life you've encouraged me to live. Because that's what this is – it's _living._ I don't think I realized that fully until today."

"I love you, too," she breathed. "Thank you for allowing me to."

And, with that, she shifted once again - only slightly, but it was enough. She smiled the surprised gasp that escaped his lips as she did so. She placed her hands on his chest once again, and they allowed each other to get lost in the beauty that their marriage was bringing to their lives, shutting the rest of the world out for a few more hours.


End file.
